


Little Bit Of Truth

by WhatTheWentz



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M, Set after Cyberwoman, sad af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheWentz/pseuds/WhatTheWentz





	Little Bit Of Truth

Three. Three fucking days. That’s how long it had been since Ianto Jones had witnessed the death of the love of his life -- twice. The first time, he had found her mangled, cyberneticified corpse, torn by the teeth of a pteradactyl, the second time, she was in a different body, the top of the blonde’s head stitched on, and she was shot down by the people he had once called friends, but betrayed shamefully. Lisa had killed someone whilst a cyberman -- cyberwoman, and that had been Ianto’s fault. It was all his fault. He had blood on his hands, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t scrub it out. In the great big world, he was the one who was dealt the curse of compassion and loving too much. He loved Lisa too much to let her go. He had went against his friends, his beliefs to keep his darling alive.  
And now, the Welshman sat in the corner of his flat, shaking hands clutching both a pistol and a near-empty bottle of whiskey. He wanted to die without her -- Torchwood would probably fire him anyway because of his betrayal.  
Tears rolled down his reddened cheeks, and he had cried so much over the past four days, he was surprised he even had any tears left to let out. Nobody had called to see how he was -- not Jack, not Owen, not Tosh and not Gwen.  
He took another swig of the whiskey, and dropped the now empty bottle to the floor, seeing it roll along his floor. His whole body trembling with sobs, he lifted the gun to his temple, but knowing that he still had a chance of surviving that, he put the barrel in his mouth, choking on his loud weeping.  
He looked up at a photo of himself and Lisa, one where she was human and happy, and so was he. His chest physically hurt from the heartache he was feeling, and his temples were resonating pain, like little tiny voices murmuring that she was gone.  
He choked on another sob, pulling his now saliva-soaked gun away, resting it on the floor beside him before lifting his knees to his chest, tugging at his hair in anger at himself. He couldn’t pull the trigger on both of Lisa’s forms, and he couldn’t do it on himself now, despite how much hatred he felt at himself.  
He tried to even out his breathing so that he didn’t have a full-blown panic attack. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.  
He picked up the gun again, pointing it under his chin this time, muffling his own sobs into his shirt sleeve . He had tried slitting his wrists earlier, but it only hurt, and he couldn’t get deep enough to kill himself. He had considered swallowing pills or bleach, but there was a chance someone would find him that way -- and then he would have to live, and talk about it -- the repercussions of his survival would be awful.  
A gun was quick, easy. Nobody would care, nobody would notice. He had nothing left. His wrists were still bleeding from earlier, staining his white shirt, but he didn’t care. He was going to die. He was going to shoot himself in the fucking head. His eyes flickered over the ceiling, and he found a burning lump in his throat when he thought how the white plaster would be stained with red and pink, and all other colours from the inside of his head.  
His breath shuddered, and he looked over at the clock. 8:50 AM. The world was just waking up, and he was going to go to sleep, permanantely.  
His finger lightly squeezed the trigger, not enough to release the bullet, but enough to make his hand cramp up. He lifted his finger and shook out the cramp before putting the pistol back to his chin, only lower, near his throat.  
He looked over at his desk and saw the very vague, shitty note he had written, not that the others would care. He was dead to them now. They all had it so easy -- Gwen was the only one who knew love, from her boyfriend. Jack was practically a robot, acting all badass.  
He exhaled once, preparing to pull the trigger, when there was a sudden knock at his door, and he looked up, startled.  
“Ianto!” Jack called, “It’s me, Jack. Let me in? Are you okay?”  
Ianto let out a muffled sob, the pain overwhelming him -- Lisa’s fucking murderer had just asked if he was okay, “Go away!” he cried, trying to keep up his gun, and retain all the dignity and resolve possible.  
“I’m coming in.” Jack said when he heard the gun click, “Are you behind the door?” he asked, his tone softer than usual, then kicked the door open with his giant boot.  
He rushed over to Ianto, who held the gun back at his temple, “I-I’ll do it… Leave me alone! G-Go away!”  
“Put it down, Ianto.” Jack murmured, kneeling beside him, “You don’t want to do this…”  
Ianto cried, “Oh, really? What have I got to live for?”  
“You have me…” Jack took his hand, feeling him reluctantly hand him the gun, then Jack tossed it across the room, sitting beside the Welshman, pulling him close as he broke down into hysterics in his arms.  
Ianto whimpered, “I m-miss her… she’s g-gone…”  
“I know.” Jack pressed a kiss to his hair, stroking his back as he felt the harsh tremors rip through him.  
The younger mumbled, completely unhinged, “L-Lisa… come back to me… come… come… please…”  
Jack brought his head down to his lap, wrapping an arm around his torso to link hands with him, murmuring comforting words in his ear.

Almost two hours later, and the last of Ianto’s sobs had past, and now he had really dry, irritated eyes and trembling hands. Jack had helped the Welshman to the couch, and was making him a cup of tea, keeping one eye on him just in case.  
The American brought the pot of tea into the living room, pouring Ianto a cup of it. The Welshman managed the smallest of smiles, tugging at Jack’s military jacket that he had wrapped around him. Shaking, he brought the cup to his lips, having a small sip before resting it back down.  
“Thank you.” Ianto whispered.  
Jack tucked a tiny bit of Ianto’s short hair behind his ear, “I help my friends.”  
“I thought you-you hated me.” Ianto murmured.  
Jack let out a heaving sigh, “I was mad, and hurt that you didn’t tell me. But I couldn’t ever hate you, Ianto Jones.”  
“How did you know that I was gunna-”  
Jack shrugged, “Just had a very bad feeling. Like I was about to lose someone I cared for deeply.”  
“Turns out it was only stupid teaboy Ianto though?” the Welshman hissed out his own name.  
Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto, “Same thing. Lets get you changed after your tea, and stitch up those cuts. I’m gonna stay with you tonight--”  
“Oh no…” Ianto groaned, “Am I on bloody suicide watch?”  
Jack nodded, “‘Fraid so. But only for your own good.”  
“Okay.” Ianto rested his head against Jack’s chest, “Thank you.” he sniffled, “You’ve no idea how bad I was. I wanted to die, but y-you stopped me. I can’t believ I was going to do that.”  
Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead, “You mean so much to this world, Ianto Jones, you’ve got no idea. Someday, you’re gonna be the one to save it.”  
“Oh, I’m not important.” he shied away.  
Jack looked at him, “You are to me. If you’dve died, a piece of me would’ve done too. You’re amazing, my amazing friend. I love you. And I’m gonna help get you better, okay?”  
“Okay.” Ianto snuggled close, “I love you too, sir.”


End file.
